


Suffer Well

by actorsgonewild (Calandraswriting)



Category: Actor RPF, The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calandraswriting/pseuds/actorsgonewild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for a prompt on the Hobbit Kink Meme: "Lee moves into a new apartment/house, and discovers that someone else is already living there. Well, not exactly <i>living</i>..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [this](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/6124.html?thread=14152940#t14152940) prompt on the Hobbit Kink Meme.

"Would you like to see the garden?"

Lee glanced out of the window into the pouring rain and wondered not for the first time if moving to England was a good idea. Sure, he had an amazing job prospect here, but it also meant leaving all of his friends behind and everything else that was nice and familiar and safe. In his good moments, Lee considered this fresh start exciting, but in bad moments like now, it was just scary.

Plus, the house hunt was going miserably. It was the first time in weeks he actually liked the house he was viewing.

No, that was a lie; he loved it. Lee had a fondness for old houses, had always imagined himself owning one, and for the first time he could actually see himself and Dean, his friend and housemate-to-be, living here; not just in this house, but also in this country. In his mind, he was already arranging furniture and starting up the huge fireplace in the living room.

"Mr Pace?"

He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the real estate agent's voice and remembered the man's question. "I think we can skip the garden."

The agent breathed a sigh of relief, making Lee smile weakly. He refrained from making a comment about English weather; instead, he braced himself for the inevitable. The house was old and beautiful and spoke to Lee in a way nothing else had so far... and it was probably way out of his price range. Even with two people, they'd never be able to afford it. "How much?"

A moment later, Lee's jaw dropped at the number the agent had just told him. There had to be a zero or two missing.

Dean found his voice first and asked bluntly: "What's wrong with the place?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"No offence, but that's a pretty low price for a house like this. Why is that?"

"Well..."

The man's hesitant voice made Lee look up in surprise and then exchange a long look with Dean. So far, the agent had been nothing but cheerful, advertising the house like his life depended on it (his commission certainly did), but at Dean's question, he suddenly looked uncomfortable.

"Well?" Lee gently prompted after a minute of silence. "Are there any renovations we'd need to do, or... or..." He faltered there, unable to think of anything else.

"Oh no, the house is perfectly maintained," the agent replied, falling back into his professional manner. "But in the interest of full disclosure, I need to tell you this: there is a rumour going around in the village that the house is haunted."

Lee only just managed to bite back a smile. An old English country house being haunted... as if the weather wasn't clichéd enough!

"Haunted," Dean repeated. "How?"

"Pardon?"

Dean shrugged. "There's different kinds of haunted, isn't there? I mean, is it like... horror film haunted, or Patrick Swayze haunted?"

The last few words sounded so hopeful Lee had to muffle his laughter; Dean's crush on Patrick Swayze was legendary. He could barely make out the agent's answer over his silent wheezing: "According to the stories, it's... um... a friendly ghost."

"Well then!" Dean said, sounding entirely too cheerful. He glanced at Lee for confirmation and when the other man nodded, he went on: "I think we'll take it."

They signed the contract a week later.


	2. Chapter 2

_There are voices downstairs. People? Here?_

_If they're squatters or thrill seekers again... god help them._

"... and there are several bedrooms, perfect for a family..."

"Oh, we're not a couple!"

_What?_

_The real estate agent? A viewing?_

_People. Real living people in the house. The tall one looks interested._

_Can it be true?_

\-------

"Look at that," Dean said happily as he looked up at their new house, a box in his hands. "Our own haunted house."

Lee laughed. "You're obsessed with this ghost thing."

"Oh, right, I forgot. You're a non-believer," he stated dramatically, shaking his box to make the pots inside rattle ominously.

"I didn't say that," Lee protested. "I've never really thought about ghosts. It's just that there are always rumours about houses like this being haunted, and they're never true, so why should ours be any different?"

"Dumb luck?"

"Yeah, have fun with that."

Moving in went smoothly, aside from a short squabble about who would get which bedroom, which they managed to resolve like gentlemen. Which meant rock-paper-scissors, of course.

The house was a little bit too big for just the two of them; they had a lot of empty rooms, but they used some for storage and managed to find uses for others. Dean converted the breakfast room into his studio so he could paint, Lee spent weeks putting together his own library, and they converted one of the empty cellar rooms into a home sauna just because they could. They also looked into the house's history out of sheer curiosity, but found nothing interesting; due to the rumours, the house had been empty for years prior to them buying it. And while Dean was ready to attribute anything strange to a ghost, Lee was more inclined to believe in old pipes and creaking floorboards.

He never noticed that both he and Dean unconsciously gave the empty master bedroom a wide berth.


	3. Chapter 3

It was 2 AM, Lee lay awake, and he was annoyed.

He always had been a light sleeper and had always thought of it as a good thing; if anything strange or unusual happened at night, he would wake up and could fix it right away. It did make moving annoying, though. He wasn't yet used to the sounds the new house made: the cracking of sun-warmed wood cooling down, the dripping tap in the bathroom downstairs (they needed to get that fixed soon), and... what was that?

He sat up, frowning, wondering if he had imagined the sound. But no, it was still there; very quiet and deep enough that Lee didn't so much hear it as feel it vibrating through his bones. If he didn't know better, if it wasn't so late and if he didn't have such an overactive imagination, he would have said that someone was humming downstairs.

 _Don't be ridiculous_ , he scolded himself, sighing as he got out of bed. He needed to turn off the dripping tap anyway, so he might as well check to see where the strange noise came from.

When he arrived downstairs, the sound was gone.

\------

Lee silently cursed his work, himself and the entire world as he hobbled from his car to the front door. How could he have been so stupid? For the past month, he must've seen the sign that said 'Mind the step' a hundred times... and yet, today he had managed to forget the step was there and had stumbled over it like some slapstick star from the 30s. Now his left foot was hot and throbbing and every single movement hurt.

As luck would have it, he didn't have to fumble for his keys; the front door opened before him. Lee expected to see Dean behind the door and was already prepared to explain - but there was no one there.

"Dean?" he called into the house, his voice echoing off the walls.

"Yeah," Dean's muffled voice yelled back and a second later, the door to his studio opened. He took one look at Lee and his eyes widened. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Sprained my ankle. Did you leave the door open?"

"I didn't even leave the house today."

"Nerd," Lee said fondly. He glanced at the still open door for a moment, then shrugged it off; if Dean hadn't done it, Lee himself must've left it open that morning. Doors couldn't just open themselves, after all.

\------

"Hey," Lee said one evening later. "Would you mind going out for firewood? I know it's my turn, but, well." He gestured towards his foot, propped up on the couch. "I'll go twice next week."

Dean glanced out of the window, looking strangely nervous. "I - do we really need more?"

"Should be enough for tonight... why?"

"Promise you won't laugh?"

"Promise."

"I - I have this strange feeling... like, if I go into the shed now, something horrible is going to happen," Dean muttered, looking everywhere but at Lee.

"Alright..." Lee said slowly. He had no such feeling, so Dean was probably just paranoid or had seen too many horror movies recently, but he kept his thoughts to himself and let the topic rest. They really did have enough firewood for the night, so no reason to make Dean do something he wasn't comfortable with, as strange as his reasons might be.

Outside, the wind picked up. Over the howling, they didn't notice the groaning of the trees in the garden.

They did, however, notice the ear-shattering crash that shook the entire room half an hour later.

Dean found his voice first. "What the-"

He stood up and hurried to the terrace door. Lee followed a little slower, stumbling along with the walking stick he'd 'borrowed' from the props room. (It wasn't stealing if you were going to bring it back.)

When he reached the door, he was suddenly very glad he had something to lean on. The ancient birch in the garden had finally given in to the storm; now it lay on the grass, leaves and twigs scattered through the whole garden, its roots torn out of the earth and swinging wildly in the wind.

Beneath the tree trunk lay the sad, shattered remains of what had once been the shed.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Lee heard when he came into the kitchen a few days later was Dean's panicked voice. "Shit-shit-shit!"  
  
"You alright?" he asked, even though it probably was a stupid question judging by the other man's cursing and panicked expression.  
  
"I have a meeting in half an hour and I can't find my keys," Dean all but wailed. "And I have no idea where I left them!"  
  
"Your keys," Lee repeated. "Your car and house keys."  
  
"No, my keys to the White House. Of course my car keys!"  
  
"The same keys that are lying on the counter there."  
  
"Wha-" Dean grabbed the keys and stared at them for a good minute, as if he had never seen them before; then he said very slowly: "Those weren't there before."  
  
Lee shrugged. "Things get overlooked."  
  
"But I didn't. I must've looked there at least five times and it was empty, I swear."  
  
They just stood there in silence for a while, both of them looking at Dean's mysterious keys, until Lee asked: "Didn't you say you had a meeting?"  
  
"Oh. Right. Later!" And he was off, shoes squeaking on the floorboards and making Lee wince.  
  
He went through the motions of making his breakfast, his mind still on the "keys" issue. Dean generally wasn't so absentminded that he wouldn't notice the keys in the most obvious place, and he never exaggerated just for the sake of it, so he wouldn't have been lying about looking at the counter five times. But then how...?  
  
 _There's another explanation,_ a little voice piped up in Lee's mind. His rational side told him it was ridiculous, but if Dean was to be believed, there really was no other way, was there?  
  
Lee felt extraordinarily silly, but he gave in to his impulse anyway and said into the empty kitchen: "I don't really believe you're there, but if you are... thanks."  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a strange little flicker of light, but it was gone as fast as it had appeared. He put it down to the morning sun being reflected in the window.  
  
\------  
  
 _Unbelievable._  
  
 _How do these people manage to survive?_


	5. Chapter 5

From there on out, even Lee in his scepticism had to admit that weird things were going on in the house. Just a few days ago, he could've sworn he'd left the stove on by accident, but when he'd run into the kitchen, it was turned off. Books in the library shifted around, changing places, which annoyed him a lot; the library was his baby. And no matter where they threw their keys or wallets or phones at the end of the day, the next morning, the items would always be in the spots where they belonged. Dean happily attributed all of this to "their" ghost and Lee was starting to believe him.  
  
But while Dean was content to let things be the way they were, every new strange incident made Lee more and more curious. Provided there was a ghost, why would he or she do all of this for them? There was nothing in it for him/her except for the occasional "thanks" when Lee was alone and Dean wouldn't hear him talking to thin air.  
  
And so, sixth months after they had moved into the house, Lee decided it was time to do something. He waited until he was alone - Dean would laugh his head off if he knew what Lee was doing - and then bolted up to his room, locked the door behind him and reached under his bed to pull out the ouija board he'd ordered off the internet a few weeks ago.  
  
He felt very, very silly standing there at the foot of his bed with an occult party trick in his hands, and even sillier when he announced to the empty air: "If you're there - I know you can move things, so let's talk."  
  
" _You don't need that._ "  
  
Lee screamed and instinctively stumbled backwards. The backs of his legs hit the bed; he lost his balance and fell onto the mattress gracelessly, the ouija board all but flying out of his hands and smashing into pieces on the floor. Great, thirty pounds down the drain.   
  
He sat there for a while, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He'd been half-ready to attribute the ouija board to nothing but wishful thinking created by an overactive imagination, but that voice that had spoken to him certainly wasn't imaginary.   
  
"A-Are you still there?" he stammered eventually. "I'm sorry, I... I was just surprised."  
  
The room stayed silent for a minute and Lee was already starting to fear he'd lost the ghost (or maybe his mind) when the voice came again. " _No, I'm sorry. I startled you._ "  
  
Even though the ghost had just said six words, Lee suddenly felt his heart go out to him. It was definitely a male voice, very deep, rough like it hadn't been used in a long time, and even though it sounded a little distant, Lee could hear the insecurity in it. The ghost must be feeling as weird about this as he did.   
  
Just a few days ago, Lee would have slapped himself for that kind of thought.  
  
"So, uh..." he stammered, still feeling a little weird about talking to thin air. "Nice to meet you, I guess?"  
  
" _Nice to meet you, too._ " There was a hint of a smile in the voice this time.  
  
Another bit of awkward silence; then Lee chuckled and sighed. "What do you say when you're meeting a ghost for the first time?"  
  
" _Well, what did you want to talk about?_ "   
  
One of the smashed pieces of the ouija board slowly floated into the air, making Lee flinch, but at least he had something to look at now. "I don't know," he admitted. "I... I wanted to thank you, I guess, for helping us. And maybe ask why you're doing it?"  
  
" _Oh. If you want me to stop-_ "  
  
"No! No. It's been great, really. I just can't figure out why. I mean, I'm sure you have better things to do than fetch our keys."  
  
A weak chuckle reached Lee's ears. " _I really don't. And as for why... it's the least I can do._ "  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Even though he was still staring at nothing but thin air and a floating piece of plastic, Lee suddenly got the strange impression that the ghost had just shrugged. " _None of us chose this. You and your friend, you're not supposed to be stuck with a ghost, but you are. I can at least make it easier on you._ "  
  
"Oh," he replied softly. "That's really nice of you. Thanks."  
  
" _You're welcome._ "

This time, the silence was a lot less awkward. Lee had about a hundred questions running through his mind, but he kept them to himself; he didn't know much about ghosts, but he had the feeling it might be rude to ask about a cause of death during the very first meeting.  
  
There was one thing he had to ask, though. "Do you have a name? I can't keep calling you 'ghost' if I want to talk."  
  
" _Richard._ "


	6. Chapter 6

Over the next few weeks, Lee slowly got used to the thought of living with a friendly ghost. Richard kept helping them as if nothing had ever happened, but now that someone knew he was there, he seemed to have stopped hiding his presence. Sometimes Lee would walk into the library to find an open book floating over the armchair, much to his amusement.  
  
Plus, it was a great conversation starter. Richard loved reading, he absolutely adored having a library in the house again, and he could spend hours talking about the book he was reading.  
  
And nothing else. Lee had carefully started to ask questions, but getting any kind of information out of the ghost was like pulling teeth. So far, all he had been able to figure out from Richard's evasive answers was that the ghost had been dead for "a while" and that he had to stay within the boundaries of the estate. It didn't satisfy Lee's slightly morbid curiosity at all; also, he felt sorry for the poor ghost, being stuck in the same place for years or even decades. He wanted to help him in some way, but without information, that wasn't going to happen.  
  
Two months passed until Lee got to see the ghost for the first time. Dean had gone out on a third date with some Irishman he'd met in a bar, so Lee was alone at home again and settling in for a nice, quiet evening in front of the TV.  
  
Something flickered in the corner of his eye. That wasn't unusual by itself; Lee had learnt to recognise it as a sign of Richard being nearby. However, this time, there was something subtly different about it... and when he turned to look, he almost fell off the couch in shock. Sitting next to him with a slightly worried expression on his face was a man, a few years older and maybe an inch or two shorter than Lee himself. The figure was translucent – it felt a little bit like looking at a fogbank – and all the colours seemed distant and muted somehow, but Lee could still see that the man had dark hair and blue eyes.  
  
And he was gorgeous. _Shit._ Lee had a horrible tendency to lose most of his vocabulary around attractive men and immediately proceeded to prove it by stammering: "I - you - wha...?"  
  
" _I'm sorry, did I startle you?_ "  
  
"No," he stuttered while thinking _yes you did_. "Just - I can see you."  
  
" _Oh, you can? Good._ "  
  
Lee wasn't quite sure if his brain was still refusing to cooperate or if Richard's answer really didn't make any sense. "Huh?"  
  
" _The living can only see ghosts if they want to, and even then it takes time,_ " Richard explained.  
  
"So I'll always be able to see you now?"  
  
" _If I want you to._ " The ghost shrugged, smiling bashfully. " _It's complicated, it's a ghost thing._ "  
  
They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Lee didn't want to stare openly, so he only stole the occasional glance at the ghost, who either didn't notice or didn't care. On the third (okay, maybe the ninth) glance, Lee noticed something and spoke up again: "Didn't you say you died before those kind of jeans were in fashion?"  
  
" _I did._ "  
  
"Then how come you're dressed... well, like me?"  
  
" _I can change my appearance at will, and I thought you'd prefer this to what I was wearing when - well._ "  
  
"Right," Lee muttered. His traitorous mind promptly showed him images of Richard in 19th century garb, which did funny things to his insides. To distract himself, he asked on: "Do you change your appearance a lot?"  
  
" _Not these days, no. Except for the clothes._ "  
  
"But you used to?"  
  
" _I..._ "

Lee was quite sure that if ghosts were capable of blushing, Richard would have. The ghost was obviously embarrassed about something, and Lee knew he had to be careful now. In the past minutes, he had learnt more about Richard than in the last few months combined; he wanted to know more, but he knew the ghost was skittish and would disappear if he felt pressured. So Lee waited, trying not to show his curiosity too much and silently hoping Richard would trust him enough to open up.  
  
It worked. " _I can do things the living can't do,_ " he explained softly, shyly. " _Sometimes I use those skills to protect the people living here._ "  
  
"I see," Lee replied just as quietly. "Thank you."  
  
" _For what?_ "  
  
"Telling me. And for using your skills to protect us." He smiled.  
  
Richard returned the smile. " _You're welcome._ "


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!  
> Will update on LJ once that creepy goat stops staring at me.

A crash from downstairs tore Lee out of a very nice dream involving a beach and Johnny Depp. He grunted his annoyance as he sat up and listened for the source of the noise. It might be nothing; the house was old and made funny noises sometimes, or maybe it was the wind howling outside, or Richard, having dropped a book in the library.

Lee smiled at himself at the last thought. When had a ghost become nothing to worry about? Or rather... when had the thought of living with a ghost stopped being scary and become comforting?

Glass smashed downstairs.

Lee all but flew out of bed and hurried to the door. The carpet swallowed the sound of his bare feet and the door mercifully didn't creak when he opened it.

He found Dean at the top of the stairs, pressed against a wall and staring down intently.

"I think we're being robbed," Dean whispered, eyes wide.

"Call the police!" Lee hissed. He could see beams of torchlight flickering downstairs.

"Can't. Landline's down again and our mobiles are downstairs."

"Shit. Now what?"

Dean cocked his head, listening. "I think they're in the living room. Maybe we could sneak downstairs and get our phones?"

" _No!_ "

Lee clapped a hand over Dean's mouth when the other man's jaw dropped and it looked like he would scream. "Shh! It's alright, that's our ghost." He turned to the dark shape that had appeared next to him. "What's wrong?"

" _Please, don't,_ " Richard whispered. " _They have weapons. Let me deal with them?_ "

He waited for Lee's confirming nod before he swept downstairs. Lee sneaked after him, curious as to what the ghost was planning, and Dean followed him after a moment of hesitation. There were two robbers and they were indeed in the living room; in the flickering light of the torches and with the lightning bolts outside, Lee could see they were fumbling around with the TV.

A low growl suddenly filled the house, making Lee and Dean as well as the robbers flinch. The light of the half-moon that occasionally appeared behind the clouds illuminated a silhouette standing in front of the terrace doors, and suddenly Lee understood exactly what Richard had meant when he'd said he could change his appearance. The figure in the living room wasn't shy, sweet Richard anymore; it was huge, at least seven feet, impossibly broad-shouldered, hands curled into claws and its eyes glowing.

The voice didn't seem to come from the brute's mouth but rather from the walls themselves, and it shook the entire house to its foundation.

_Who DARES to enter my house?_

Both robbers screamed in unison. One of them seemed rooted to the spot; the other abandoned his comrade and fled as fast as his legs would carry him.

_Leave,_ the ghost hissed menacingly, slowly stretching out one hand towards the remaining robber.

"W-What are you going to do to me? Walk through me?" the man asked, his voice full of false confidence. 

A low, sinister chuckle rolled through the house, making the pictures on the walls rattle. The ghost approached the man and circled him once, coming to a stop behind the robber and slowly raising his hands until the yellow claws were barely an inch away from the man's throat. Then he leant in to whisper something; Lee couldn't hear the words or read the ghost's lips, but even in the darkness, he could see the robber pale to an alarming shade of white.

_Leave_ , the voice growled again. _Never come back._

"Yes sir," the man stammered, turning tail and running. Lee could see his face, twisted with fear, and felt a little sorry for him; he looked like a teenager, barely twenty, and now he'd be scarred for life. The front door slammed shut behind him and for a moment, the entire house lay still and silent.

In the living room, the form of the huge brute slowly dissolved into the tall, lean ghost Lee knew - and why was he grinning like a lunatic?

While Richard slowly walked over to meet them, Lee finally became aware of the pressure around his middle. Dean.

"It's alright," he soothed, patting one of the arms wrapped around his waist. "It's over. And I swear, he's usually nicer than that."

"Says you," Dean replied weakly, but let go anyway.

" _I'm sorry,_ " Richard said softly. " _This was not how I wanted us to meet._ "

Lee eyed the ghost, whose lips were still twitching. "You're having way too much fun with this."

" _Sorry,_ " he said again. " _I haven't properly haunted someone in decades. I forgot what it's like._ "

"So scaring people half to death is fun for you guys?"

Richard had the grace to look embarrassed. " _Not really. It's just - I used to act in the village theatre when I was alive. I miss that sometimes... playing a role, I mean._ "

Lee filed that piece of information away in his mental "Richard" folder (not that he was obsessive) while he replied: "Anyway, thanks. For, uh, saving us."

" _My pleasure._ "

"Can I just ask, though... why could they see you right away? Took me months." He wasn't jealous, no, not at all.

Richard's eyes softened. " _Because of you._ "

"Huh?"

" _Contact with the living strengthens the dead._ "


	8. Chapter 8

When Lee came home the next day, he found Dean in the living room talking to - or rather at - a mildly exasperated ghost.

" _Lee,_ " Richard said, relieved, when he saw him. " _Can you please tell your friend that there are no secret passageways filled with gold in this house?_ "

Chuckling, Lee turned to his housemate. "I'd believe him if I were you. And besides, you just sold four paintings, what do you need gold for?"

"You can always use gold, Lee." Dean informed him sagely.

"Right... and what makes you think there are secret passageways here?"

"They're always there in the movies." Dean shrugged. "I just thought it would be cool."

" _There are no secret passageways in this house,_ " Richard repeated patiently. " _I should know, I built it._ " A second later, his eyes widened when he realised what he'd just let slip.

Lee stared at the ghost for a long, uncomfortable minute. When he finally managed to pick his jaw up off the floor, he repeated very slowly and quietly: "You built this house."

" _Yes._ "

"As in... from the ground up, hiring an architect and workers and everything."

" _Yes._ "

Another moment of silence before Dean burst out what Lee was thinking: "The house was built in 1733!"

Richard sighed deeply. " _Yes._ "

"S-So y-you've been dead for..."

" _268 years, seven months and five days. But who's counting._ " His voice was tinged with bitterness.

Lee did a quick mental tally, ending up at 17th April 1738 for Richard's death date, and in that moment he wanted nothing more than to hug the man. He didn't do it though; he had no idea if it was even possible to touch a ghost, and Richard would probably shy away from the touch anyway.

"What happened?" Dean asked softly. "If you don't mind."

Richard didn't look at them as he answered, the words spat out harsh and angry: " _I was murdered._ "

"What?" Lee asked in disbelief. Richard was sweet and polite and a true gentleman; why would anyone want to kill him? "Who? Why?"

" _If I knew that, I wouldn't be here... and these days, there's no chance of finding out._ "

 

\------

 

Lee spent the next few days quietly watching "their" ghost. Richard was visible most of the time now, so Lee could see him drifting through the house, head bowed and deep in thought. Sometimes at night, Lee would wake up to hear that deep voice through the walls, singing slow, sad songs from times long past. His heart ached at the sound of it, at the knowledge that the poor man had been stuck in this house, alone, for two hundred years, never knowing why he was there and who had condemned him to that fate. And worse - knowing that with every passing day, the chance of finding his killer became smaller and that he might be trapped in this hell for eternity.

It couldn't go on like this.

And so, a week after Richard's confession, Lee poked his head into Dean's studio and asked: "Hey, do you wanna go out for lunch? You can show me that restaurant you were gushing about."

Dean turned around, raising an eyebrow at Lee. "This isn't a date, is it?"

Lee chuckled. "You're not my type, sorry."

"In that case, yes." Dean grinned. "Give me an hour?"

"Sure. Meet you outside. - By the way, you have green on your chin."

Lee waited until they were at the restaurant, sitting at a mercifully secluded table, before he said without preamble: "I wanted to get away from the house. We need to help Richard."

Dean nodded. "I know." He sighed and put his menu down, lowering his voice as he spoke: "But how? How are we supposed to solve a 200-year-old murder?"

"Do you still have the number for the agent who sold us the house? Maybe he knows something about the house's history."

"As good a starting point as any." Dean smiled weakly. "I'll call him on Monday."

The waiter came to take their orders, and they sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Then Dean said slowly: "There may be something else we could do... but you're going to hate it. I know I do."

"What is it?" Lee asked curiously and a little worriedly. He would do anything in his power to help the poor ghost, but Dean's expression didn't bode well.

"We're both... uh... uncomfortable about the master bedroom, right?"

 _Uncomfortable_ was putting it mildly, Lee thought. _Scared_ might be closer to the mark. "Yeah."

"What if there's a reason for that? I mean, what if there's something in there?"

"Something like what?" Lee asked, already fearing the answer.

"I don't know." Dean shrugged. "I just think it's weird we're both scared of an empty room. There has to be a reason."

 

\------

 

So on the next day, a Sunday, Lee and Dean stood in front of the door to the master bedroom, looking at each other nervously.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

It had been Dean's idea, so he was the one who unlocked the door and turned the knob. The door opened with an obnoxious creak and a wave of dusty, stale air hit them, making both of them cough.

Lee felt vaguely disappointed when he looked into the room for the first time. Judging from the way he feared that room, he had half expected it to be filled with skeletons and torture devices, but there was nothing there except for a rickety old writing desk and layers upon layers of dust.

"I'll get the hoover," Dean offered, all but fleeing down the hall.

"Coward!" Lee yelled after him.

" _Don't blame him,_ " a soft voice spoke up, making Lee flinch. A second later, Richard flickered into view in the middle of the room. " _It would be stranger if you weren't scared._ "

"Why?" Lee asked curiously. "What is it about this room?"

Richard waited for Dean to re-appear before he answered: " _Something always remains in a place where a ghost was created, and the living can feel it._ "

"Meaning...?"

" _I died in here._ "

"Every dentist's office in the world must be built on a spot like that," Dean joked weakly.

Richard's explanation didn't ease the fear, but it did make things simpler for both of them. Now that they knew what it was, they didn't need to be afraid of something jumping out at them anymore, so searching through the room was a lot less uncomfortable. Dean went straight to the huge fireplace, knocking on the stone to find possible secret compartments (much to Richard's amusement) while Lee examined the desk as carefully as he could; it looked like any touch might cause it to collapse.

"Hey, Dean," Richard said. His voice suddenly sounded a lot less distant, making both Dean and Lee look at him in surprise, but it was gone as fast as it had appeared. " _Watch._ "

He moved over to the fireplace and let one of his hands drift along the mantelpiece. Lee shuddered involuntarily at the sight of those long fingers moving over the stone in a gentle, familiar way; thankfully, Richard didn't notice. Dean did, however, and silently laughed at Lee behind the ghost's back.

Eventually, Richard stopped moving. Neither Dean nor Lee saw what he was doing, but there was an audible click and the sound of wood scraping over stone.

"What did you do?" Dean asked excitedly.

" _I lied a little,_ " Richard admitted sheepishly. " _There is one secret compartment. Do you have a light?_ "

"Hold on," Lee muttered, running to find a torch. When he came back a minute later, Dean was already fidgeting impatiently.

Richard instructed him on where to shine the light, and eventually, Lee discovered a tiny hole in the wall, cleverly hidden by the bulk of the fireplace.

"There's something in there," he announced. Carefully, he inserted his hand into the hole, praying to any higher power who would listen that there were no spiders inside, and eventually his fingers met something that felt like wood. He pulled it out to discover that it was a tiny box, beautifully crafted and apparently untouched by the years.

Richard's jaw dropped at the sight of the box. " _I-I thought..._ " he stammered, voice shaking.

"What is it?" Dean asked gently. "What's wrong?"

Lee handed the box over and Richard held it as if it was the most precious thing in the world. He didn't look at anyone as he spoke; his voice was very, very quiet and again wavering between distant and real. " _I had no idea this was here._ I thought she'd taken it with her."

"She?"

"My wife."

"You had a wife?" Lee asked, horrified. He'd always thought of Richard as being alone in the house after his death - but to be a ghost in his own house, helplessly watching his wife grow old, unable to talk to her? That must have been worse than any torture.

" _Yes,_ " Richard replied softly, the ghostly echo back in his voice. " _This was hers. She remarried two years after I died... I thought she'd taken it with her._ "

Lee breathed a silent sigh of relief. Two years were still a long time, but at least Richard hadn't had to suffer for too long.

" _Did you find the key?_ " the ghost suddenly asked.

"No," Lee replied, surprised, and lifted his torch to examine the secret compartment again. "There's nothing here."

" _Then she must've taken it with her,_ " he muttered dejectedly - and then flickered out of sight.

"Richard!" Dean yelled, surprised. "Don't go, we can find another way to open it..."

Lee sighed. "Give him some time."

Hours later, deep in the night, he woke up to the sound of Richard's voice again.

_In darkness let me dwell, the ground shall sorrow be,_  
 _The roof despair to bar all cheerful light from me,_  
 _The walls of marble black that moist'ned still shall weep,_  
 _My music hellish jarring sounds to banish friendly sleep._  
 _Thus wedded to my woes and bedded to my Tomb,_  
 _O let me dying live, till death, till death does come._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is called "In Darknesse Let Me Dwell", written by John Dowland and published in 1610; I just fixed the spelling a little and left out the last line.  
> Sources: wikipedia and [this](http://hephoz.de/_kunden/dowland/index1_e.html) site. It's worth a look if you're interested in Renaissance/Baroque music; most of Dowland's work is incredibly depressing, but it's really quite beautiful.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!   
> Also, thank you all for the reviews and kudos.

Months passed and not much changed. Richard never mentioned the box again, but Lee and Dean knew he was searching the house for the missing key one room at a time, although he did most of his searching at night so he wouldn't be in Lee or Dean's way. 

Meanwhile, the two living inhabitants of the house continued their own search. The real estate agent hadn't been of much help, so they'd had to find other ways. Dean spent most of his free time in the village library, looking through the archives (and later complaining to Lee about shoddy documentation), while Lee went out into the village itself, making friends with the neighbours and trying to find someone, anyone, who knew more about the house than just the vague "haunted house" rumour that was going around.

The story he eventually pieced together from the villagers' information was more or less accurate, if a little exaggerated for dramatic effect. According to the rumour, the house had once belonged to a rich gentleman who'd built it for his wife; that much was true. After that, the story got a progressively wilder, speaking of curse that befell the family and forcing them to haunt the house forever. That not only wasn't true, it was also spectacularly unhelpful when it came to finding the murderer. 

At least Richard got a laugh out of the story when Lee told it to him. The ghost was slowly starting to open up to his living friends, telling them stories about 18th century life or about some of the former owners of the house, and the more time he spent with them, the more human he seemed to become. He definitely looked more solid these days and his voice sometimes lost its distant, slightly ethereal quality.

"Why do you still do this?" Lee asked one evening; he'd had a few beers and was feeling brave. "You don't need to change your clothes for us."

Richard chuckled. " _You don't want to see what I looked like when I died._ "

"But we know what time you're from now," Dean argued, effortlessly picking up Lee's train of thought. "No need to hide the 18th century clothes anymore."

" _Believe me, that's not the problem._ "

"What is the problem, then?" 

" _I didn't die in 18th century clothes._ "

"Huh?"

" _The coward killed me while I was in bed, sleeping._ " Richard's mouth twitched upwards in a smirk as he went on, dryly: " _I slept naked._ "

Lee choked on his beer at the mental images his overactive mind provided him with, while Dean guffawed. 

"You're right, I really don't want to see that. That must've been awkward."

" _Made me learn how to change my appearance fast._ " He shrugged. " _Ghosts don't really care about that, though. People die in all kinds of clothes._ "

"Really? Like what?"

Another shrug. " _I've seen ghosts in Armani suits and ghosts in clown costumes._ "

"Gah!" Dean shuddered violently. "Please don't ever tell me about that again."

" _What do you mean?_ "

"The clowns. I hate clowns, and _ghost_ clowns on top of that..." He shuddered again.

" _I see. Sorry._ " Richard smiled bashfully.

\------

When Lee came home, the studio door was open and he could hear Dean's pleading voice.

"Come on, please?"

" _I don't know..._ "

"I promise it won't take long. I won't make you get into weird positions, and it's not going to hurt."

" _What if someone sees it?_ "

"Nobody will, I swear. If it makes you feel better, I'll burn the evidence later. Assuming there is any."

"... _alright._ "

"Brilliant! Just hold still, yeah?"

Lee wasn't quite sure if he wanted to see what was going on, but morbid curiosity drove him to step up to the studio door and peer inside.

He almost laughed when he saw the truth. Richard was standing in the middle of the studio, looking a little uncomfortable, while Dean was standing a few feet away from him, taking pictures with three different cameras.

"Hey," Lee protested when Dean saw him and pointed one of the cameras in his direction. "Not me. What are you doing, anyway?"

"An experiment," Dean explained. "I wanted to know if it's possible to take pictures of ghosts."

"Uh... why?"

"Just curious. - Right, let's see..." He walked over to the desk in the corner, grabbed a fourth camera - a polaroid - and took one last picture. Richard's shoulders dropped in relief when the blond man put the device away.

Despite his confusion about the "experiment", Lee found himself getting curious. He hurried over to Dean and peered over his shoulder as he inspected the finished polaroid. 

Dean's face fell in disappointment when he saw the photo. "There's nothing there!"

" _Really? Good._ " Richard nodded, apparently satisfied.

"So I guess all those pictures of ghosts on the internet are fake," Lee commented. 

Dean shrugged. "I'm going to develop the others anyway. Maybe something will show."

 

"Richard, you prick!" 

"What's going on?" Lee asked, surprised at Dean's sudden outburst. 

"Here." Dean thrust the polaroid from the day before into Lee's hand before he went back into his studio, muttering darkly about "dead people humour".

Lee glanced at the photo and had to bite back his laughter so he wouldn't annoy his friend even more. In the middle of the picture, Richard had drawn a cartoonish outline of a ghost; the caption he'd written underneath simply said "Boo!"

From somewhere in the back of the house came the deep, throaty sound of chuckling.


	10. Chapter 10

The sound of the doorbell ringing tore Lee away from his book. He grunted, annoyed, as he swung his legs out of bed into the cold winter air; who would come visiting on a Sunday, and at an ungodly hour like nine in the morning?

In the hall, he met a sleepy Dean whose hair was standing up in all directions.

"Your friends suck," he said without preamble.

"I didn't invite anyone. Did you?"

"No." Dean sighed. "If that's Jehovah's Witnesses again, I swear I'm gonna give them something to witness."

"What-" Lee started, trying to tell his friend to do whatever he wanted to the Jehovah's Witnesses as long as he was quiet about it, but the sound of the front door opening stopped him from actually forming the words. 

"Richard!" a tenor voice yelled downstairs, immediately followed by the ghost's baritone.

" _Jerry!_ "

Dean threw Lee a confused look, mouthing "what", but the only thing Lee could do was shrug. He reached the top of the stairs just in time to see the silhouette of a man leaving, Richard sweeping after him.

\------

_"How's your mother?"_

"Fine. Still refusing to believe in you." Jerry grinned. "I'd say I'd bring her along next time, but I'm afraid she'd see you and die on the spot."

" _I'm not that scary,_ " Richard protested, laughing. _"You were never scared of me, even as a child._ "

"That was different," the younger man noted quietly. Richard was about to apologise, seeing the shadow of memories flitting over his friend's face, but Jerry hurriedly changed the topic. "You're strong these days. New friends?"

" _Yeah. The boys who own the house now... they're amazing._ " He grinned. " _A bit oblivious at times. They're trying to figure out who killed me, and they think I don't know what they're doing._ "

Jerry chuckled. "Want me to talk to them?"

" _No. Thanks, but no. Let them keep hoping while they still can._ "

\------

 

The ghost didn't return until the evening, when Lee and Dean were watching a horror movie together.

" _That's surprisingly accurate._ "

Both men flinched and turned around to see Richard idly floating behind the couch, his eyes fixed on the screen which was paused on Nicole Kidman's face.

"Jesus Christ, don't do that," Dean protested. "This is what causes heart attacks!"

" _Sorry,_ " Richard said, smiling. 

"Where have you been?" Lee asked, then realised he sounded like his mother and continued in a gentler voice: "We haven't seen you all day."

The ghost shrugged. " _In the forest with Jerry._ "

"I thought you couldn't leave the property?" Dean asked, frowning.

" _Yes, but the forest was part of the property in my time._ " He shrugged again, smiling this time. " _It's a bit of a loophole._ "

"So if you die in a public place..."

" _You can go anywhere within that state, yes._ "

Dean grinned. "Cool. Remind me to die in Trafalgar Square or something."

"That'll be lovely," Lee remarked dryly before he asked the question that had been burning in his mind all day: "Who's Jerry?"

" _A friend._ " Off Lee's raised eyebrows and Dean's confused expression, the ghost went on: " _He grew up in this house. Still comes to visit every other year or so._ "

"That's... unusual, isn't it?" Dean asked.

" _We have history,_ " Richard said. He seemed to regard that explanation as sufficient, but it only made his two living friends more curious. For once, however, he didn't answer their questions, just kept saying over and over that it wasn't his story to tell.

"Are you being deliberately enigmatic?" Dean eventually asked. "This is textbook ghost."

" _I'm doing something right, then._ " Richard grinned. " _Now tell me about that movie._ "

The abrupt change of topic didn't elude Lee or Dean, but it was obvious the ghost wouldn't tell them anything else. Prying had never worked on Richard, so they let it be in favour of explaining the parts the ghost had missed.

An hour later saw Richard laughing at his friends when they were surprised by the plot twist, and starting a discussion about ghosts in movies as if nothing had ever happened. Richard never mentioned the events of the day again, and even for Lee and Dean it would be years until they found out the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I have this weird little habit where I usually write two endings to a story and choose the one that works best with the rest of the story. However, since this is based on a prompt, I feel the need to ask (mainly the OP, but non-OP readers, feel free to leave your opinion): which ending would you prefer? The first gets funny and a bit weird now and has a rather bittersweet ending; the second is the other way around. (More or less.)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay and the shortness of this part. The next part is almost finished though, so it should be up a lot sooner.

"Come on..." Lee muttered absently at the kettle as he prepared his breakfast. Never mind that it was actually lunchtime; the night before had gotten long, it was a Saturday anyway, and there was no one around to judge him. Dean was out for groceries and Richard was probably still holed up somewhere with his book. Not needing to eat or sleep or go to the bathroom certainly had its perks sometimes, especially when it came to a good read.

The sound of the doorbell ringing made Lee start, then sigh. "It's open!" he called into the hall, thinking it was Dean who'd forgotten his keys or had his hands full.

"Hello?"

Lee raised his head at the sound. It was definitely a stranger's voice that had spoken, but the simple word seemed to resonate through Lee's very bones, odd and familiar at the same time. He was suddenly very, very certain the owner of the voice belonged here.

Curious and a bit confused now, he ducked through the low kitchen door into the hall, already talking. "I'm sorry, I thought you were someone el-"

The word got stuck in his throat at the sight of the man standing just inside the doorway.

Lee only realised he'd still been holding his mug when it slipped out of his hand and smashed on the floor, the crash echoing through the terrible silence that fell over the house. The world seemed to stop turning for a moment, only to rapidly start moving again a second later, and he had to grab hold of the doorframe so he wouldn't fall over on the spot. A splinter dug into his palm, reminding him painfully that this was not, in fact, a dream.

"Richard," he whispered, realising in the same moment he'd spoken the name that the confused man in the hall wasn't actually Richard. He had the same handsome face with the long nose that Lee always wanted to kiss, the same blue eyes, the same quirk to his eyebrows; only his posture and his hair were different from the ghost's. They could have been twins - if not for the fact that the stranger was very clearly alive. 

"That's right," the man said, his voice sending a shiver down Lee's spine that somehow was composed of both fascination and horror. "I'm looking for Dean?"

_Dean._ The name tore Lee out of his stupor and made him realise that he'd been staring at a complete stranger for at least a minute. It didn't help that when he found his voice again, he was babbling rather than speaking normally. "Yes, of course. He's my roommate, he should be back any minute now, if you wouldn't mind waiting in the living room...?"

Lee hurriedly steered the visitor onto the couch and then all but fled to make tea. It gave him an excuse to hide in the kitchen for a while, which he used to quietly hyperventilate. How could the visitor look so much like Richard? Who was he, why was he here, and why now? How was something like this even possible?

_You've had a crush on a ghost for a year,_ a sarcastic little voice said in Lee's head. _You're long past what's possible._

It took a few minutes, but eventually Lee managed to calm his racing heart and his shallow, ragged breathing. The kettle had long boiled, but the water was still warm enough to make tea; the movements were automatic and soothing in their familiarity.

"Richard?" Lee whispered into the silent kitchen as he prepared to go back to the living room and face the inevitable awkwardness. "If you can hear me - get your transparent butt down here right now."


	12. Chapter 12

"I'm sorry about earlier," Lee blurted out the second he stepped into the living room. "It's just that you look like someone I... care about. It was a bit of a shock."

"I see."

"So, uh, you said you were looking for Dean?"

"Yes," the man said, obviously relieved to change the topic. "We've been emailing back and forth for a while. Apparently, one of my ancestors built your house."

"Oh," Lee muttered. His thoughts were all starting to get mixed up with each other again, and he was painfully aware of the awkward silence in the room as he tried to untangle his mind. Richard had never mentioned having descendants at all, but it was as good an explanation as any. Although, granted, that wasn't saying much since the entire situation pretty much went miles over Lee's head.

Fortunately for Lee, the silence was broken by a thumping noise from the front door and then Dean's slightly strained voice: "Anyone home? Could use a hand here!"

Lee hurriedly excused himself to go help his friend, who was juggling several shopping bags at once. Two of the bags got shoved into Lee's hands; he would've loved to slap Dean upside the head for not telling him about finding a descendant, but with his hands thus full, he had to settle for a death glare.

"There's someone here for you," Lee informed Dean as they started putting things in the fridge.

"Ohh, that must be Richard. Different Richard, not ours."

The pot of yogurt he'd been holding dropped out of Lee's hands at the name. 

"You should've told me." Hurt feelings, confusion and annoyance prompted his next words: "Do me a favour. Go take a look at him, but don't let him see you."

Dean frowned at him, but followed the request anyway. When he came back a few seconds later, his face had taken on the colour of old milk. "Holy shit," he whispered. "Holy shit!"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"I swear I had no idea. I would've told you if I'd known he'd be... this!"

"I know," Lee said softly, sympathy winning over his annoyance. He made a mental note to apologise to Dean later, when they had more time.; it wasn't fair to snap at him like that. They were quite probably the only two people in the entire world who knew what this situation felt like.

Finishing their task gave the two men enough time to at least get back to some semblance of sanity, and when they went back into the living room, they even managed to make a bit of small talk about the weather and Richard's journey here. Eventually, Dean asked: "So what do you think of our little home?"

"Little?" Richard's chuckle made Lee's skin tingle. "It's beautiful. I can't believe I never heard of it until you contacted me."

"The man who built it - your ancestor - didn't live here long. He died young."

"I've never actually heard of him either," Richard admitted. "Do you know anything about him?"

"Well..."

Dean never got to finish his sentence. There was a familiar popping sound behind the sofa he and Lee were on, Richard's jaw dropped, and then the ghost's baritone: " _What's so urgent - sweet mother of god!_ "

"What the fuck!" came the reply in an almost identical, but much more alive voice.

" _Language, young man_ ," the ghost snapped back instantly. When Lee turned around, he saw Richard - ghost Richard - frowning at himself. " _Oh. Haven't said that in centuries... sorry._ "

"C-Can somebody please explain this to me?" the visitor asked weakly. 

Lee and Dean took turns telling the whole story, with ghost Richard occasionally adding something. The tale took a while to tell, and after that it was an even longer while to convince the visitor that he wasn't dreaming or being set up for a joke. They ended up talking for so long they invited their guest to stay for dinner.

Once over the initial shock, however, it turned out the two Richards were utterly fascinated by each other. When Lee and Dean returned with the food half an hour later, "Old Richard" and "New Richard" (nicknames invented by Dean) were comparing the length of their fingers.

"You know, we have a few bathrooms, if you want to check the size of... other things," Dean joked. He promptly stopped grinning when he got two identical looks of exasperation levelled at him, which in turn made Lee laugh.

"This is going to be fun."


End file.
